Jason Hardink, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 26, 2019

Jason Hardink demonstrated why he deserves to be known as a “key” pianist on Tuesday evening to a nearly-full house at Weill Recital Hall. He made the strongest impression in the thorny 20th century works that he has made his calling card: Eckardt, Xenakis, Messiaen. His strengths are: a prodigious memory and uncanny independence of hands and fingers that allows him to create extremes of contrasting sonority, both soft and loud, often simultaneously; he is very musical, and I believed every note he played. I did take issue with a few interpretive choices, which I shall try to elucidate below. By the way, he did create some of the best program notes I have read in many a season—regular readers of New York Concert Review know how passionate I am about program notes.

Mr. Hardink plunged right in with Echoes’ White Veil by Jason Eckardt (b. 1971). This work supposedly inspired him to view “virtuosity” as a door to the sacred, so to speak. The piece, based on a prose poem by W.S. Merwin, is very active, with a few strategic oases of calm. I did not have the score available to study prior to this concert, so I am only reacting to what I heard in the moment. The sheer ferociousness of Mr. Hardink’s commitment translated, often, into ferociousness of keyboard attack, which I felt served this particular music very well. I heard the “bolting of the gates of Thermopylae” as though it was happening right next door, more than anything else.

Mr. Hardink then turned his attention to the hermetic, contemplative “second series” of Images for piano by Debussy. In the first two in particular ( Cloches à travers les feuilles and Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut), depicting bell-sounds through leaves and moonlight on a former temple, Debussy seems to have almost achieved a state of “musical Nirvana,” that is no longer goal-directed. I say almost because they are not entirely free of human regret and a unique kind of Debussyian pessimism. Here Mr. Hardink’s tonal sensitivity was a pleasure, though for me there can always be more sonorous layers of bells (at the beginning)—most players give up after defining about four of them, Mr. Hardink reached six by my count. Passages marked très en dehors (very brought out) were often minimized. The final movement, Poissons d’or, about a pair of Japanese carp on a black lacquer bowl in Debussy’s possession, though played in the “correct” tempo, seemed jammed, and a bit lacking in elegance and wit.

The first half concluded with Xenakis’ evryali, meaning either “open ocean” or one of the snake-haired Gorgons. This was truly terrifying, and I mean that in the best possible way. The instrument thundered, and the occasional written-out silences only increased the tension. By the way, Mr. Hardink played all these fearsome scores (the whole program in fact) completely from memory.

After intermission, I had more to take issue with. The first group consisted of four of Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes, revised twice from their initial version. Again, Mr. Hardink’s boldness of approach I could accept as legitimate—he plunged headlong into every one of them, with tempi that were quite rapid (though indicated as such). Liszt’s music could have used more expansion, grandeur, and rubato. Sometimes we need to “help” the composer’s music to sound even “better” than it is. Singing lines needed to sing more. Also there was some rather eccentric “post-modern” pedaling instead of the daring mixtures that Liszt requests. The rapidity of execution was impressive (remember, there’s nothing typical audiences love more than speed and volume), but it robbed the discourse of time to blossom, and Feux follets (Will-o’-the-wisps) was technically uneven in the beginning (after the introduction). The famous Harmonies du soir (Evening harmonies) were stripped of their strategic fermatas—amid the welter of notes, there’s always an opportunity for contemplation. The Wilde Jagd became strident and hectic, though I realize the score quite often encourages it.

The concert closed with four of Messiaen’s Vingt regards sur l’Enfant-Jésus – twenty “looks” at the Christ-Child. These complex pieces showcase Messiaen’s celebrated fervent Catholic mysticism, and they are quite sincere, even when, at times, the music sounds a bit like a popular tune with “wrong notes” and all manner of complicated compositional theories attached. They present (appropriately) nearly super-human challenges to any pianist. Mr. Hardink met every one of them, but he was at his radiant best in the final two: Le baiser de l’Enfant-Jésus (The kiss of the Christ-Child: an ecstatic contemplation of a miracle) and Regard de l’Esprit de joie (The look of the spirit of joy) with its near-drunken orgiastic celebration of the holy. There were certain three-note clusters (A-B-flat-B), the last three low notes on the piano, that he played with his fist, a touch that I found unnecessarily rude and inelegant—they could easily be fingered 3-2-1.

I want to emphasize how very impressive this recital was, and how un-routine the programming was. Mr. Hardink’s basic musicality redeemed every selection, even those where I may have mentioned something that stuck out to me; in fact, had the level of excellence not been so high, I might not have noticed the departures from it.

Mr. Hardink excels at a kind of pianism that I would imagine would make him suitable for Boulez and Stockhausen as well, if he is so inclined. At any rate, one doesn’t often hear bravura technique in the service of such committed ideas, so bravo.

Charles Neidich, artistic director, clarinet; Ayako Oshima, clarinet; Cynthia Roberts, violin; William Purvis, French horn; Chloe Fedor, violin; Edson Sheid, viola; Madeline Bouissou, cello

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

February 23, 2019

New York’s intimate and impeccable Wa Concert Series continued its standard of excellence, while opening ears and hearts with a beautiful program of historically informed performances helmed by the veteran violinist Cynthia Roberts. All the musicians speak the grammar of the Classical (or Baroque) period perfectly, yet they never sound like they are giving you a dry lesson on the music. Each piece is lived anew, hence the “new.” Phrasing, articulation, transparency of sonority, sensitivity to harmonic change and chord weight, and flexibility: all were delectable.

The evening opened with the Overture in D Major for two clarinets and French horn, HWV 424, one of the earliest uses of the clarinet, by G.F. Handel, no less. Apparently he knew an itinerant clarinetist in England, one Mr. Charles. This should give lie to those who maintain that Mozart’s re-orchestration of Messiah, with added clarinets, is a blasphemy. In this generally open-spirited Overture (not the prelude to something else, nor the double-dotted grandeur of the French overture), the sequence of movements was pleasant, with beautifully traded-off lines among the three players: Charles Neidich, his talented wife (and every concert’s dinner chef) Ayako Oshima, and natural-horn player William Purvis. The softness of the sonorities made this occasional music convincing, and Mr. Purvis formed every single note with his lips and/or his hand in the bell of the horn, a frightening proposition (just try it). One could imagine open fields and non-threatening military type calls.

Then came a curiosity, a quartet for clarinet and string trio by the Finnish-born clarinet virtuoso, Bernhard Crusell (1775-1838), an early proponent of Mozart’s music in Scandinavia. Unless you were at this concert, or are a clarinet student or fanatic, you have probably never heard a note of Crusell, which is a shame, for his work abounds in proportional elegance, abundant opportunity for display, and once in a while some startling or mysterious chromaticism, and at times it sounds a “bit” Mozartean. The four movement work was given agile life, especially in the alert communication skills of the three strings: Cynthia Roberts, Edson Scheid, and Madeleine Bouissou. As for Maestro Neidich, I run out of superlatives: he extracts every bit of shifting color from his instrument, always truly singing, even during the most fiendishly show-offy passagework.

After intermission came the sublime Mozart Clarinet Quintet, K. 581, a late work whose profundity always astonishes. Mr. Neidich here played the (strange-looking) clarinet that was intended, and used by Stadler, Mozart’s close friend and inveterate money-“borrower.” This large clarinet has a bell that faces inward, at a right angle to the body, and its range is enormous, especially in the deep low register: the octave transpositions that modern clarinet players deface the score with are unnecessary with it. One realizes how perilous these instruments can be, there was a false start just at the very beginning, but it didn’t phase anyone. With the addition to the previous string trio of Chloe Fedor on second violin, the quartet of strings was perfectly in sync, and the balances were utterly refreshing: one was allowed to hear the collegiality of the work, rather than a “diva” statement from either clarinet or first violin, especially with the pleasure these players took in producing the magical aura this piece creates, a radiant smile from Mr. Scheid across the ensemble to Ms. Roberts, for example. Cellist Madeleine Bouissou’s total involvement with the inner life of the lowest voice was a consistent pleasure. The work is in A major, but it is the shifts to minor mode that stab the listener in the heart.

The players offered a true encore: a repeat of the Larghetto (second movement) of the Mozart, which was even more ravishing and intimate the second time.

Hwaseong City Chamber Orchestra with featured winning soloists

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 21, 2019

Though many decry what seems to be a cultural decline and lack of discipline in today’s younger generation, there are always rays of hope, and this listener encountered a dozen of them this Thursday at Weill Hall. Twelve young soloists, as winners of the Hwaseong City Music Competition, flew over from South Korea to perform concerto movements with the Hwaseong City Chamber orchestra – and they represented their nation well.

Though the orchestra was small (two winds and around thirteen strings), and understandably given the small stage of Weill Hall with a Steinway grand, the ensemble was valiant, and the soloists were as well. What could have been a marathon evening simply flew by as the parade of extremely accomplished youngsters gave their all, each for about ten minutes. Sadly, their ages and other information were not listed. The conductor led the ensemble admirably, though astonishingly his name was omitted from the program as well (more on that last issue later).

The first performer, violinist Chae-Lin Suh, played L’inverno (Winter) from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. With a full sound and assertive musicality, she boldly set a high bar for the concert. Occasionally (and possibly with help from adrenaline) she seemed to have a slightly edgier tempo conception than the accompanying ensemble, but as the piece continued, she seemed to energize the group towards her way of thinking. One couldn’t help wishing that there had been an easier way for her to connect visually with the conductor who led from behind her with little chance of eye contact unless she did a one-eighty, but fortunately some expert ears were at work. One doesn’t want to guess Ms. Suh’s age, which could have been anything from fifteen to twenty-four – but suffice it to say that she is already quite an elegant young lady with much potential.

Cellist Man-Jung Kim strode onto stage next to play Popper’s Polonaise de Concert, Op. 14 (first year university, as one gathered from nearby audience members who said they knew him). It was an impressive performance full of élan. He ably negotiated the treacherous high notes in the early cadenza and was unafraid of using expressive slides to convey the grand Romantic spirit. At times the orchestra had some scruffy moments (as one had thought also in the Vivaldi – inevitable perhaps when each instrument is exposed without the cushion of larger forces), but Mr. Kim fared well. He was also somehow able to impart the occasional oblique nod and glance as a cue – well done!

Violinist Jung-Ho Byun dazzled next with the Introduction & Rondo Capriccioso of Saint-Saëns. Looking somewhere in the upper teens in age, he played with a brilliant sound and an impressive degree of accuracy in its most challenging passages. If the sixteenth rests at the opening struck one as surprisingly literal compared to freer versions, he found his comfort zone quickly. It will be wonderful to hear this young player in a year or so to see whether this very famous showpiece will acquire that “tossed off” quality alongside his already considerable technique.

When the little violinist Eun-Seo Cho walked onstage next, there was a slight gasp from some the audience, as she looked no older than perhaps ten years old and played nothing less than Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen. She handled it with a mature grasp in the passionate Roma melodies and effortless spiccato bowing in its pyrotechnics. This reviewer was ready to jot down how this or that was not quite up to Heifetz’s rendition, only to stop with the realization that my own socks are older than this child, so let it suffice to say that she was amazing. (Now, won’t it be difficult to take that all back if one finds she is actually fifteen and has availed herself of some youth-enhancing technology? Well, then we’ll talk – but she would still be exceptional.)

Just when one thought that prodigies can’t come much smaller, in marched pianist Ye-Seo Nam, looking all of about six or seven. Surely there was some sort of Matryoshka nesting doll backstage – in which case, what could possibly be next? Not to lag behind, though, young Ms. Nam made easy work of Haydn’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in F major – not the third movement as listed in the program but the longer and more involved first movement, which had her fully engaged and moving to the music from the opening orchestral tutti. Her fleet fingers (even with the tricky thirds) may have occasionally needed a bit more “traction” to rein in the speed and keep in perfect alignment with the orchestra, but all in all she was outstanding.

After a bit of onstage shifting to move out the concert grand, the next player entered, pianist Yu-Na Kim, seemingly in her mid to late teens. In some ways, despite the advantage of a few more years, she deserves extra respect for her poise in following such pint-size players (scene-stealers who inspired the famous W. C. Fields advice, “Never work with children or animals”). Ms. Kim sailed through the third movement of Chopin’s Piano Concerto in E minor with grace and authority. The only minor suggestions would be to make some rapid phrase ends less clipped and perhaps to change color and character more in the E-flat major section. Then again, she was impressive simply for pulling off this challenging movement so beautifully with what must have been very little rehearsal (given so may soloists). She also is to be admired for treating the piece as chamber music; at one point, for example, she managed in a long upward run to wait on the penultimate note for the slightly lagging orchestra, so that her top note would be right with them – she is on the ball!

After intermission, the concert resumed with slightly older players in general. Baritone Ji-Seok Lee opened singing Hai gia vinta la causa! from Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. He possesses a magnificent voice, excellent diction, and a commanding stage presence worthy of the Count who delivers this aria. Though there was little in his demeanor (and no gestures) to convey the dramatic aspects of the role, his second selection, Sanchon (or Mountain Village) by Du Nam Cho, elicited his heightened emotions and dramatic involvement – it was a pity that no lyrics were provided. One will certainly look forward to hearing this singer again.

More Sarasate followed, with the Introduction and Tarantella in the capable hands of violinist Sang-Yong Sin. One was becoming rather spoiled by violin virtuosity by this point, but Mr. Sin delivered his solo with tremendous brilliance. The same applied to the next violinist, Hae-Won Choi, who gave a commanding and extremely assertive account of the Praeludium and Allegro of Kreisler (curiously listed on the poster/program with first name “G. P.” rather than Fritz).

Following other players in a group concert is a challenge not to be underestimated, and as the time approached 10PM one felt for these young players. As my colleague Alexandra Eames described so well in a 2011 review (Rutgers Pianists in Review): “To relax and find one’s stride in just one or two pieces is extremely difficult and the performer must go through the same physical preparations (dressing for performance, arriving on time, trying the instrument, etc.) as he would for a full-length recital.  Often the most sensitive artists can be sabotaged by the endeavor, whereas the more arrogant temperaments barrel through their nerves.”

Miraculously there was not a single meltdown the entire evening. Cellist Ye-Won Cho followed with a rhythmic and nimble-fingered account of the third movement of Haydn’s Cello Concerto in C major, and aside from the almost dizzyingly fast tempo that perhaps stemmed from heightened excitement, her account was excellent.

Two pianists were the last performers, starting with Yu-Min Cho, who took on the thorny third movement of Chopin’s Piano Concerto in F Minor. He honored the score with respect and mature musicality, and it was beautiful to behold. It was only through some overpedaling and smudges towards the end that one sensed some fatigue, undoubtedly from waiting through such a long evening. Mr. Cho has the potential for very distinguished playing.

The role of final performer fell to pianist Min-Sun Kim, and that is not an enviable assignment, but she gave an impassioned performance of the first movement of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. She was decisive and clear in her interpretation, delivering the work’s well-known lyricism with mature musicianship and a singing cantabile right hand, while also unleashing ample firepower for its peaks, particularly its high-voltage finale. It was a grand finale indeed, and one could only marvel at how the skeletal orchestra behind her rallied to meet her, playing their hearts out. Brava!

All the players returned to the stage for a final colorful bow, and a representative from the competition (whose name was hard to make out if it was indeed announced) remarked that the competition would be arranging another concert here within a year. He also introduced an honored guest (again with a name hard to discern) to present five special certificates, which went to cellist Ye-Won Cho, violinist Eun-Seo Cho, baritone Ji-Seok Lee, and pianists Ye-Seo Nam and Min-Sun Kim.

The Hwaseong City Music Competition’s organizers certainly know how to find talent, and now it is clear that they know their way here – all a good thing! They also appear to have some corporate backers to help make it happen (notably Kia via their poster); it should not take much more, therefore, to fine-tune the presentation itself (as the musicians had done). The program, really more of a concert flyer, seemed rather hastily assembled with too many typographical errors, and there should not have been any question as to the name of the conductor, the correct movement to be played, or the details of the competition itself (still a mystery after some web searching). There is probably also a way to arrange for a French horn or trumpet, even given limited space – but again, the musicians were remarkable.

Bravi tutti!

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra, Distinguished Concerts Singers International,

Jonathan Griffith, Artistic Director and Principal Conductor,

Sir Karl Jenkins, CBE, DCINY Composer-in-Residence

Baidar Al Basri, Ethnic Music Vocalist; Sara Couden, Contralto

Elliott Forrest, WQXR Radio Personality

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 21, 2019

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presented another spectacular musical celebration this past Monday on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and the program featured two major choral works by Welsh composer, Sir Karl Jenkins, whose 75^th birthday is marked this year. The first half consisted of the United States Premiere of his hour-long Symphonic Adiemus (including his 1995 Adiemus, reworked and augmented from its version for women’s voices to employ SATB, chorus, and an expanded orchestra). In the second half we heard his well-known Stabat Mater, for which this reviewer covered the United States premiere in 2009, six years before the composer was knighted (when New York Concert Review was still a print-only publication). I wrote then that his music was “direct, appealing, and at times profoundly moving” – and that opinion certainly holds today.

In an age when labels are applied with regularity to works of art as well as to people, the Symphonic Adiemus of Sir Karl Jenkins eludes classification. Though it is built on traditional classical forms, employs classically-influenced harmonies, and requires classically trained orchestral forces, the work is built over a nearly constant rhythmic undercurrent, often syncopated, which seems to invite the sloppy term “crossover.” Thanks to liberal use of African percussion (such as the djembe), Mideastern instruments (such as the riq), a chest-voice style of singing (marked with the word “tribal” in parts of the score), the terms “ethnic” and “world music” get slapped on as well, also not too helpful in an era of constantly intertwining cultures. As Sir Karl Jenkins himself acknowledged during an intermission interview from the stage, “I’ve always resisted categorizing music.” In fact, so averse is he to categories that he created his own language for his Adiemus, in lieu of established texts from any single nation or era.

As Sir Karl writes, “The text was written phonetically, with the words viewed as instrumental sound, the idea being to maximize the melisma … by removing the distraction, if one can call it that, of words. The sound is universal, as is the language of music.” On that premise, Symphonic Adiemus employs syllables text such as, “Za Ma Ba” and “Kayama” and in doing so largely avoids cultural associations and preconceptions. One could argue that “Adiemus” is a Latin word – and it is, of course – but, as Sir Karl recounts, the syllables “Ah-dee-ay-moos” simply emerged from the multitude of syllables, fortuitously corresponding to the Latin word for “we shall approach” (and close to “audiemus” or “we will hear”). As Sir Karl quips, “it could have been a lot worse!”

Musically, the twelve-movement Adiemus is beautifully paced to hold the attention of even the most restless audience – and just when one might be ready to pigeonhole a style or think a pattern formulaic, it all changes.

From the opening percussive blows of its first movement, In Caelum Fero (another case of phonetics emerging as Latin), one senses a heroic adventure ahead, and the brass and ostinati that follow are worthy of an epic soundtrack. One’s imagination supplies the story, especially with such a non-verbal choral part, but several hundred people making music onstage build a case for the hero being humanity itself.

The initial driving energy yields to the gentle Chorale: Za Ma Ba, with long-breathed melodic lines in the chorus and strings, and it is followed by the title movement, Adiemus, known to almost anyone who has been on the planet in the past decade. Associations have long been an issue for composers to reckon with (certainly exacerbated by technology, ringtones, commercial settings, etc.), but if “familiarity breeds contempt” the chant-like Adiemus is holding up quite well!

Nine movements follow, including the delightful Song of the Spirit with its almost raunchy horn licks, followed by Chorale: Elegia, which does not wax elegiac for too long before the ubiquitous rhythms return, now with gentle hand percussion. As if shunning too much of a lull, the next movement, Kayama, opens with a declamatory brass section before the chorus gently re-enters. Two movements entitled Tintinnabulum (parts I and II) follow, bringing the focus to tubular bells, and they provide a refreshing change of color. The highlight for this listener, though, is the ninth movement, Chorale: Cantilena, with its stately simplicity of line, and juicy suspensions and inner lines that tug at the heartstrings. A florid flute solo decorates its central section, and it was well performed. The orchestra throughout was excellent.

After the Cantilena comes Zarabanda, based loosely on the French Sarabande known for its emphatic second beat, but with its more distinctive rhythmic feature here being the constant percussive undercurrent. When the gently beatific Hymn begins after it, without percussion, it is a welcome respite. It is not easy to sustain excitement when there are so many climaxes of all sorts in a work, but thanks to the relative quiet of the Hymn, a resurgence is made possible, and the entire work comes to a rousing close with the Song of the Plains.

One couldn’t help thinking throughout the first half that the neutralizing of the text to mere syllables and the dissolution of certain musical categories are in perfect harmony with the mission of inclusiveness associated with the DCINY organization. DCINY gathers choruses from all over the world, and for this event they had singers from New York, Oregon, Australia, Canada, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Sweden, Switzerland, and the UK, and (as listed in the program) “individual Singers from around the globe.” DCINY regularly reminds potential choristers to come join them, and their extravaganzas frequently fill Carnegie Hall to capacity. It was inspiring to behold their hundreds of singers, old and young, of all stripes, visibly exhilarated by the music and energized by the guidance of Maestro Jonathan Griffith. They also represent the work of numerous choral conductors behind the scenes, and in tribute to one such outstanding choral conductor, Dr. Doreen Rao, DCINY brought her to the podium after intermission to present her with its Educator Laureate Award.

As impressive a feat as it is to create one’s own syllabic language, it is arguably much harder to set music to the Latin text of the Stabat Mater, which has a venerated tradition from Vivaldi and Pergolesi through Verdi, Poulenc, and the present century. Each composer will somehow reflect the musical language of his own era, and yet, irrespective of associations, he must compose in a way that can convey the timeless subject matter of the life of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary.

If one found oneself thinking that some of the Jenkins Sancta Mater seems a bit too redolent of our own day’s epic film scores – one could carp similarly about the Sancta Mater of Rossini, who lets the word “crucifixi” roll just a bit too merrily off the tongue, as if imitating the finesse of his great influence, Mozart. Looking at the bigger picture, the fact is that Sir Karl Jenkins followed his inspiration, and his Stabat Mater goes beyond the European tradition to resembling, as a whole, no other piece.

The central Latin texts are surrounded with those in English, Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, and Aramaic, and include words from the Epic of Gilgamesh and the poet Rumi. The texts are highlighted with the exotic timbres of Arab percussion instruments, which create evocations of the Holy Land. These were used especially effectively in conjunction with pizzicato strings in the eighth movement, Virgo Virginem.

Both chorus and orchestra deserve high praise for stamina as well as overall musicianship. The concertmaster, Jorge Ávila, was as ever an MVP, and Maestro Jonathan Griffith held the masses together in a way that could be described as miraculous. At times, he appeared to be the musical diplomat mediating between the unforgiving precision of the percussion and the giant amoeba of combined choruses – and there were precarious moments – but he was unfailing.

The soloists of the evening were also exceptional. The impassioned “ethnic vocals” of Baidar Al Basri made the second movement, Incantation, memorably stirring – and this listener had originally heard Belinda Sykes, who set a very high bar. Sara Couden’s beautifully penetrating contralto voice was also a discovery, and her superb diction brought clarity to the despairing fourth movement Lament, with text by Carol Barratt (Sir Karl’s wife).

All in all, one was struck once again by what a formidable achievement it all represented. Bravo to DCINY, to all the performers, and to Sir Karl Jenkins – happy birthday, and many happy returns!

Woori Kim, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

December 26, 2018

The day after Christmas, Woori Kim presented a sophisticated program consisting of 95% Debussy, and one response to (and “continuation of”) Debussy by Canadian-born Joel Hoffman. Generally speaking, Ms. Kim’s keyboard fluency and a good ear served her well in this most demanding repertoire from the point of sonority. She captured the atmosphere of most everything on the program, but if you are a devotee of French music and Debussy is your “God,” then you know “Debussy is in the details.” Ms. Kim had some serious misreadings of phrasing, dynamics, legato, pedaling, and even chords, all of which tended to detract from the good impression she made. I am not referring to the occasional slip, which can happen to anyone. There were more than the usual amount of memory lapses, from all of which she recovered with poise.

The recital began with the elusive, mysterious second series of Images. I was concerned when the first notes of Cloches à travers les feuilles began too quickly—Debussy’s metronome marking is 92 to the eighth note, and the tempo is Lent. It sounded hurried, which deprived the music of the chance to delineate the seven (!) levels of bells that are contained in the first four measures, and farther into the piece, the space for a clear rendition of all the “small” notes. The first two chords of Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut are marked, respectively, p and pp—there was no difference in Ms. Kim’s performance, although the mood of the movement was beautiful. Every time I was on the verge of being won over, one of these flaws would spoil my total enjoyment. Poissons d’or, the frisky portrayal of Japanese lacquer goldfish on a bowl that Debussy coveted, was played extremely fast, but again without the clarity and sparkle that a slightly more spacious tempo would have given.

Ms. Kim followed with the second book of Debussy etudes, a seriously abstract set of challenges that involve not only dexterity (which is needed to a frightening degree, and which Ms. Kim has) but subtlety of sound. Les degrés chromatiques was very well done, with super-fast lightness. I didn’t feel Debussy’s intended Italian barcarolle mood in Les agréments. Les notes répétées was very successful. Les sonorités opposées had beautiful sounds, though the distant (World War I) bugle call that occurs and recurs was not articulated in the way the composer wished, or with enough sadness, even nostalgia. Very often, when Debussy indicates diminuendo, Ms. Kim would do the opposite, or play mf when it says pp. However, on plenty of occasions in this recital I heard her do breathtaking pp, ppp, even pppp, so I know she is capable of these soft sounds. Les Arpèges composés was again, in the right mood, but lacking precise, exquisite delineation of the sound levels. Les accords was a bit sloppy for my taste. After all, these are frightfully difficult pieces (intentionally so), requiring years of living “inside” them.

The most successful piece on the program was in fact commissioned by Ms. Kim, the brand new étude: pour les symétries by Joel Hoffman. He explained in his verbal and written program notes how the human hands are symmetrical and opposite, yet how much traditional piano training has them working at cross purposes to this natural state—playing “parallel” is much harder than in contrary motion. His etude was a scintillating exploration of mirroring, and it called forth all of Ms. Kim’s brilliance. There were also slight quotes from Debussy works played elsewhere on this program. Overall, it was very exciting and intriguing. I’d like to see eleven more etudes by this composer, played by Ms. Kim, to take their place alongside the Ligeti etudes as a quality modern contribution to the genre.

After intermission, Ms. Kim gave the entire second book of Debussy Préludes, whose adventures in “whole-tone-polytonality” leave far behind everything previously done by the composer, and even predate a lot of the so-called “twelve-tone” composers. Debussy was dismantling traditional tonality in his own way—what makes it so accessible to the ear is his beautiful sonorities. Brouillards, Feuilles mortes, La terrasse des audiences au clair de lune, and Feux d’artifice were the most successful, with Les tierces alternées showing her strength in fast, light playing. In each one of these, Ms. Kim captured the perfect atmosphere, whether the solemn, enclosing mystery of fog, the introspection of autumn, moonlight bathing a sidewalk café, or Bastille Day fireworks. Elsewhere, many of the issues stated above resurfaced: when notes deliberately marked legato are played staccato, it completely changes the character and message. Something that was definitely not in Ms. Kim’s control: the dreadful out-of-tune state of the A below middle C (only after intermission), which was very apparent, as there are so many A octaves in this book of preludes.

Debussy’s scores are so detailed, it seems every single note has three or four indications for how it is to be played, how it follows what came before and precedes what comes next. This generation of French composers was really anti-interpretation. They felt that the performer should really be a talented vessel, receiving and transmitting their carefully crafted messages. Ms. Kim is very close to this ideal, and I hope she will live with all these masterworks much longer, giving them ever closer readings, refining her already considerable pianistic ability.

Her fans don’t care what I think: they rose to their feet for a standing ovation, deserved after such a strenuous program.

Jeongeun Park, Viola; Eric Zuber, Pianist,

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

December 17th, 2018

Violist Jeongeun Park (https://www.jeongeunparkviola.com) appeared in her New York debut at Carnegie Hall’s Weill Recital Hall this week, delivering some highly admirable performances of difficult repertoire. She has received numerous distinctions in solo, chamber, and orchestral categories in her native South Korea, where she studied with Do-Yeon Kim in Seoul. Her biography states that she has also performed widely in the United States and participated in many programs, including the Aspen Music Festival. Dr. Park is currently on the adjunct faculty of the Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, where she received her MM, Artist Diploma, and DMA under Catharine Carroll Lees.

Dr. Park’s program was an interesting one with a large stylistic and emotional range. The first half included Reinecke’s delightful Three Fantasies for Viola and Piano, Op. 43, and selections from Prokofiev’s well-loved ballet Romeo and Juliet (in a Borisovsky arrangement). Fauré’s ubiquitous Après un Rêve, Op. 7, No. 1, began the second half with stunning Romantic outpourings, and Shostakovich’s profound final composition, the Sonata for Viola and Piano, Op. 147, closed the program.

One knows one is in New York when hearing a fellow audience member actually complaining about hearing the same viola repertoire this week as last (though your reviewer found only the Prokofiev to be duplicated in concert listings); it might surprise the reader to know, however, that, for an instrument which is something of an unsung hero of music, there were no fewer than four public viola recitals (not including group ones) in the concert halls of Juilliard alone – and undoubtedly more, if one includes other New York venues. This listener will not be complaining, though, because most well-written music withstands infinite hearings if played with strong individual commitment.

On this occasion, that individual commitment was certainly transmitted to the audience, though at times it came more noticeably from the collaborative pianist, Eric Zuber. One had a hunch that Dr. Zuber would stand out, as this listener reviewed him glowingly many years ago, well before New York Concert Review went from printed publication to an online one. He is now quite a veteran with more major prizes than one can count, and he enlivened each piano part with his vividness of interpretation and mature musical understanding. From the opening of the Reinecke and on, with its fistfuls of Schumannesque passagework, he was in fact (yes, it is possible) a bit too engaging! One found one’s attention moving more to the piano than to the viola, simply from the intense musicality he projected throughout. No, the reason was not that this listener is a pianist, nor that there was any excessive volume from Dr. Zuber (though the duo probably ought to have set the piano lid on the half-stick, rather than all the way up, as it was for the entire recital); it just seemed that Dr. Park let Dr. Zuber take the reins in more of the recital than one would expect (the collaborative nature of the repertoire notwithstanding).

The three Reinecke pieces made a gracious opening. The duo of Drs. Park and Zuber were right together in matters of tempo and phrasing. A few minor intonation glitches showed what may have been some opening jitters in the first piece, but the second and third movements set sail nicely. Dr. Park showed that she has a beautifully warm sound, especially in the lowest registers.

One couldn’t help wishing that the actual titles of Reinecke’s movements had been listed on the program, rather than mere tempo markings, because it seems worth mentioning that the first piece is not merely an Andante but also a Romanze. It could have enjoyed even more of the feeling that its name suggests. There was, on the other hand, more dreamy spaciousness later on in the center of the second piece (Allegro molto agitato), where 6/8 became 2/4. The third piece, Molto Vivace (also one which Reinecke gave a title, Jahrmarkt-Szene and subtitle, Eine Humoreske), was a good jaunty finish to the set.

On the topic of program notes, there were also a few omissions and errors, including the life dates of Carl Reinecke’s father, listed as “1759-1883” (whose secret of longevity I want to learn!). It is easy enough to understand the occasional typo, assuming some haste, but a New York debut at Weill Hall is worth extra care. Assuming that one of the goals of performing music is to communicate, program notes can help the audience grasp some of what may not be captured in the interpretations. For each listener who has heard several viola concerts in a week, there may also be a listener who has never attended a classical recital but will become the audience of the future.

The first half concluded with Selections from Romeo and Juliet of Prokofiev, arranged by eminent violist, Vadim Borisovsky (1900-1972). Dr. Park’s selections were the Introduction, The Young Juliet, Dance of the Knights, and Mercutio. These were impressive performances in what are virtuosic arrangements, though again – at the risk of asking too much – one wanted more of a sense of the character in each piece. The Knights were not quite as formidable and fearsome as one would like (though the pianist did supply some of the more growling intensity), and one became a bit too focused on the busy-ness and challenges in the Juliet movement; there were some extremely beautiful sounds in the latter, however, especially in the more tranquillo central section.

After intermission came Fauré’s Après un Rêve Op. 7, No. 1, a piece with which Dr. Park seemed completely relaxed and comfortable. It had beauty of phrasing and tone, with just the right liberty of expression. It was good to hear Dr. Park taking a more assertive musical lead.

The Fauré acted as a musical blessing of sorts, before crossing the musical River Styx of Shostakovich’s Sonata for Viola and Piano. Dr. Park was intrepid in this great work, doing some of her finest playing. From the first movement’s searching pizzicato opening and ominous tremolos played sul ponticello (at the bridge of the instrument), she seemed to revel in its most haunting moments. In the central Allegretto movement, where the sheer physical demands require it, her playing was fully involved, fittingly biting, and angular – though perhaps it could have projected still more of its inherent sarcasm. The final movement, with its chilling references to Beethoven, including to his Sonata, Op. 27, No. 2 (“Moonlight”), was played with probing profundity, sending the audience off into a meditative night.

It is a high compliment to performers when one leaves a concert hall thinking about how amazing a composer was, and one did just that after this duo’s Shostakovich. One hopes to hear both musicians again soon.